Thanksgiving Is a Nasty Little Holiday
by greatunironic
Summary: The crew's doing the Thanksgiving thing. Travis is plotting, Reed's confused by the Americans, Archer's acting like a five year old, and Tucker's eating a turkey


Title: Thanksgiving Is a Nasty Little Holiday 

Author: greatunironic

Rated: PG-13 for some innuendo regarding Archer, drunkenness on Reed's part, swearing, and other general mayhem

Disclaimer: I've used up all my witty and biting remarks for Reed to say and can't think of anything good to put here. Let's just stick to the standard 'ain't mine' ramble.

Summary: The crew's doing the Thanksgiving thing. Travis is plotting, Reed's confused by the Americans, Archer's acting like a five year old, and Tucker's eating a turkey

Etc.: My friend made me a bet saying I couldn't write humour. I can, I tell you! I can! Anyway, she wrote this challenge for me off of an idea she got from watching 'Friends'. Here it is:

Must contain the following quotes: "I don't understand. Did he lose a bet or something?", "You are my Everest.", and "It's like me when I was born!". Travis must have a main part, Trip must be abashed at some point, Archer must show the maturity level of a five year old at least once, Malcolm must be confused by something Archer says, and Trip must eat an entire turkey on his own.

Okay, this is M.S.'s bright, shiny, happy story. No one dies/is mortally wounded/severally wounded but lives/traumatized/psychologically screwed around with (feel free to add anything). It's just good, old fashioned fun. This attempts to be funny as, because of my friends, I am under the misguided impression that I have a good sense of humour. I hope you like it.

And for the good of the order, please do not follow Malcolm Reed's example. Alcohol is no solution. Neither is drinking to get through the day, or through some other unpleasant events.

---------

Thanksgiving Is a Nasty Little Holiday

Or

The One Where Trip and Travis Make a Bet and Trip Has To Eat an Entire Turkey

"He doesn't do Thanksgiving," muttered Travis Mayweather in a mocking tone as he sat at the helm. He tapped his fingers on his station and cast a furtive look in the direction of one Malcolm Reed. The British man had said earlier when Travis asked if he was going to the Thanksgiving party that he didn't do Thanksgiving. The sensible part of Travis said that this was alright as the lieutenant was British and Thanksgiving was a distinctly American holiday.

Unfortunately, the sensibly part of Travis wasn't all that big and the evil, conniving part was most always able to shout it down. Therefore, Travis was prepared to use all tools at his disposal to get Reed to go to the celebration. Even if this meant making use of the big guns; a.k.a. a bottle of the Good Scotch and possibly some duct tape, a cloth, codes to Reed's quarters, a baseball bat, an alibi, and some jell-o.

Travis cackled evilly and rubbed his hands together in a gleefully way. It was all much reminiscent of the Wicked Witch. But then he realized he had cackled quite loudly and the captain was staring at him and that rubbing one's hands in such a manner as he was doing was rather incriminating. He reduced his cackling to a softer cackle and stopped rubbing his hands together in glee, as he figured doing that for no apparent reason could get him locked up as well.

---------

"You won't be able ta get him ta go," stated Trip Tucker around a mouthful of pie. But Travis didn't hear what the commander had said as he was a little too distracted by the fact that this was the commander's fifth piece of pie in as many minutes. It was quite frightening, really. Travis wondered where it was all going, as before this he had watched the man eat four helpings of catfish, one tuna sandwich, and two meatloaves. Not to mention all the drinks and chips he consumed.

After a moment, Travis realized what Tucker had said and retorted, "Oh, yes, I will! Even if I have to drag him there unconscious. And he will enjoy it!" Travis added. "He will have a good time and he'll love me forever! But...not in that way," the ensign amended quickly. Tucker nodded sagely. They sat in silence for a few seconds, during which Tucker polished off his piece of pie and moved onto the sixth. Travis spoke again.

"I don't understand how you do it," he stated.

"Do wha'?" asked Tucker, his mouth full of pie, looking rather confused, and a bit stupid, to be frank.

"Eat," Travis gestured wildly to the slew of plates on their table, "all of this! It's got to be against some law of physics for a man to be able to eat so much! It's just not right!" declared Travis, slamming his fist on the table forcefully, and causing a few plates to slide off the table as well.

"I'm a growin' boy," said Tucker hotly, brandishing his fork. The ensign was prudent enough to back down slightly; he rather liked not having any sharp metal objects lodge in his body. But he continued anyway, wisely not voicing his thought of 'Growing boy, my ass.'

"And I still think I can get Lieutenant Reed to go."

"How?"

"Sir, I have a Plan."

"You intrigue me. Tell me of this plan."

"No, no, no. You're not saying it right. It's Plan."

"Okay: plan."

"No, Plan."

"A plan?"

"No! Plan."

"A Plan."

"Excellent. Now, it involves the Good Scotch—" here Tucker gibbered appreciatively "—and quite possibly some duct tape, a cloth, codes to Reed's quarters, a baseball bat, an alibi, and a fast get away vehicle for when he finds out it was me." He chose to leave out the bit about the jell- o because he was pretty sure Tucker thought he was crazy enough already.

Tucker once more nodded sagely. "This just might work, Travis. Consider my skills enlisted for your cause. And I will see to it that the Captain will join us." Travis smiled.

"I also have a proposition for you, sir."

"Yes?"

"I bet that, at the party, you won't be able to eat an entire turkey on your own."

"What's in it for me?"

"I will give you the Good Scotch—" Tucker gibbered appreciatively again "—and I will bow down to you superior eating abilities."

"And you?"

"The enjoyment of watching you try to eat an entire turkey, sir."

"You're on, Ensign."

---------

Malcolm Reed knew that something was up and that that something involved him. He could tell from the shifty glances Ensign Mayweather and Commander Tucker had been shooting him. Also, from the occasional odd look that Captain Archer would give him and the burst of giggles that Archer would have when he thought Reed was out of hearing range. How wrong the captain was. But Reed wasn't about to tell him that. He needed every advantage he had to find out what sinister plot those three nutters had set against him. Or not so sinister. He kind of had the feeling that it had to do with the upcoming Thanksgiving festivities.

Reed decided to watch his back.

--------

The three conspirators were huddled together in a closet (a very small closet let it be said) with only a flashlight to give some light to the closet. Travis was currently smashed up in one corner of the closet, his shoulder pressing on the door and his long legs pushed up against his chest. Tucker was in the same predicament as Travis in the other corner. Archer was taking up the most space, as he was the captain, and holding the flashlight up to his face, making rather disturbing noises that Travis supposed were supposed to be scary but were really just plain stupid.

"So, here's the Plan," Travis began, but was soon distracted. "Captain, would you please stop doing that!" Tucker nodded furiously, well as furiously as the confined space would allow. The flashlight clicked off and there was a muttered 'sorry' from the general vicinity of the Captain. "You didn't have to turn it off." The flashlight clicked back on and there was another 'sorry' from Archer.

"Anyway, here's what we are going to do. Captain, you will attempt to talk Lieutenant Reed into coming. Do not order him. Appeal to his sense of duty and what he likes. If that fails, Commander Tucker and I will lure him with the promise of the Good Scotch and get him to one of our quarters. Then we will proceed to knock him unconscious."

"He will wake up at the party," continued Tucker, "duct taped to a chair and gagged with all exits blocked. Therefore, he will not be able to escape, even if he breaks his bonds, and will not be able to beg for help from some poor, unsuspecting woman. Or Hoshi."

The trio cackled evilly. And then Archer began to hack something terrible and Tucker had to maneuver himself and pound Archer on his back a little more enthusiastically than he should have. But the moment was lost never the less. The captain took this as a sign to again make the disturbing noise in attempt to scare Travis and Tucker. But really it just kind of made them wonder. They gave this man a starship?

Suddenly, the door to the closet in which they were plotting in, or, in the case, of Archer, just being kind of stupid, swooshed open. The three men fell out and found themselves staring at a pair of feet in very shiny boots. As one, they all looked up at the body and face to whom the feet belonged. To their great horror, it was indeed the man who they had been plotting about, Malcolm Reed. He merely shook his head.

"I don't want to know."

---------

Archer was on the bridge later that day. He was currently trying to explain the meaning of Thanksgiving to Reed and convince him to come to the party that they were throwing in honor of the holiday. But Reed was having none of it.

"Oh, c'mon, Malcolm!" wailed Archer. "This is what Thanksgiving is all about!"

"Killing people?" asked Reed, confused. He was well educated enough to realize that the captain was either pulling his leg or had no idea what the hell he was talking about.

"Yes! And you've killed more people than Trip's had hot meals! That's more than the human mind can comprehend!" Archer yelled.

"And the Vulcan," muttered T'Pol from somewhere behind her consol. Tucker had the decency to look slightly abashed. Travis grinned at nothing in particular; he had indeed seen this phenomenon. Archer, though, ignored T'Pol and continued on with his wailing.

"But you've got to come, Malcolm! You've got to! It's going to be so much fun! We're going to eat turkey and mashed potatoes and gravy and cranberry sauce and stuffing and tell stories and decorate the tree and open presents and eat chocolate and tell each other we love each other and get drunk and—"

"Wrong holidays, Cap'n," whispered Tucker. Archer paused, thought about what he said, and nodded; those were the wrong holidays. Poor Reed just looked even more confused.

"There's a tree?" exclaimed Reed, almost hysterically. Tucker gently patted Reed's shoulder while the captain regrouped his thoughts. This took a while as the Captain's thoughts had taken a hard left after 'drunk'. He began to remember a certain St. Patrick's Day in which he got dead drunk in a bar full of women and one thing lead to another and...well, he's pretty sure he's got some illegitimate children out there.

Reed, on the other hand, seemed near the point of snapping and agreeing to go. Or snapping, getting a gun, and putting the captain out of his own misery. But he realized that shooting the captain constituted as mutiny and he wasn't to that point. Yet. And there was that other little nasty bit of business involving the captain looking like he was about to beg. Reed steeled his resolve. He'd be damned if he was going to spend more time with that lunatic than he already needed to.

"But if you don't want to go, you don't have to go. I'm not going to order you. But it was just be so nice if you would come." Archer began to sulk slightly, sitting back in his chair and not looking at anyone. Reed, however, was not prepared for this sudden change in attitude and could only manage a rather undignified "Huh?" in response.

"I said you don't have to come if you don't want to. I'm not going to order you. I just think it would be nice if you did. Everyone would like it if you did. I know Trip and Travis would." The subjects of the last sentence let their faces crumple and made themselves look quite pitiful. Reeds were not programmed to deal with guilt trips and sulking. It just wasn't in their genetic make up. Sure, they could undergo a strange transformation when they're drunk and faced with a fight and take out eight men with one barstool. But Reed was pretty positive that was only him that did that in his family. Still, the guilt thing was completely new to him. He snapped.

"I'll go!" Archer immediately brightened up and Reed realized that he had just been duped, and rather successfully at that, into going to the Thanksgiving celebration. Blast, thought Reed. I should have seen that one coming.

---------

Travis Mayweather rubbed his hands gleefully and did his evil cackling thing as he lay in bed. Tomorrow was going to be brilliant. Lieutenant Reed has allowed himself to be guilted into going to the Thanksgiving festivities (but that's not to say that he didn't grumble quite a bit all day that Thanksgiving was a nasty little holiday. There was also that somewhat disturbing matter of him muttering that Archer would get what was coming to him, but as Travis's name wasn't said, he wasn't all that worried). And he was going to get to watch Commander Tucker attempt to eat an entire turkey. A large one at that, as Travis had made a deal with Chef.

His cackling increased in its loudness and a pillow found itself being thrown with a rather large amount of force at Travis's head. This was followed by the ensign's roommate yelling, "Shaddup, Mayweather! I'm-a tryin' ta sleep o'er 'ere!"

In respect to his New Yorker roommate, Travis quieted down, but was still rather gleeful. Tomorrow was going to be a great day.

---------

Charles Tucker heard his stomach growl as he lay in bed. He had only eaten one sandwich, some chips, a glass of milk, and a slice of pie at dinner that night (something that was so rarely done that it prompted Reed, who had been sitting with him, to reach over and feel his forehead to check if he had a fever and to ask if he was feeling alright). He was a hungry man at that point. What he wouldn't give for a steak or two. Maybe four.

He turned and looked at his desk. There was a candy bar in the bottom left hand drawer. He could feel it in his bones.

---------

Malcolm Reed was filled with a sense of foreboding as he lay in bed. Something bad was going to happen tomorrow, he knew it. Or Commander Tucker was going to find a new way to embarrass himself that involved Reed. Like that one time at Christmas where they got caught under the mistletoe. Reed shuddered. After that incident, he had tried to suppress the memory. It worked. For the most part.

He sighed. He felt that many things would try his patience tomorrow. Especially being in the same room as his lunatic captain for the entire day. Don't get him wrong; in times of crisis, there was no one better to be a captain. But you can't expect much from someone who greets a new race of aliens with 'Hiya, I'm Captain Jonathan Archer of the starship Enterprise, how may I direct your phone call?' and talks about gazelles and water polo insistently.

Reed decided to strap a phase pistol to his leg. He wasn't sure how much longer he could stand the endless water polo driveling.

----------

Water polo was such a fun sport, thought Jonathan Archer. It was great to watch. He watched the game with rapt attention. Porthos sat beside him, whining; he was really hungry. Archer tossed down a piece of cheese unconsciously as he continued to watch the game. Suddenly, his thoughts took a left and he began to think about gazelles. How this happened, he was not sure. It just did. Gazelles were lovely creatures...

He wondered if gazelles could play water polo...

---------

"That's it?" declared Tucker with all the supreme disdain of someone who had once eaten four helpings of catfish, one tuna sandwich, two meatloaves, a rather large amount of chips, an uncountable amount of drinks, and eight pieces of pie and was still hungry as he looked at the miniscule turkey in front of Lieutenant Reed. "I could eat that in my sleep!"

"That's Lieutenant Reed's chicken," said Chef maliciously from behind Tucker. "This is your turkey." A large, golden brown hunk of bird meat was set down before Tucker. The table rattled and a glass fell off and shattered on the floor. "All twenty-one pounds of it."

"It's like me when I was born," said Tucker hoarsely. As Tucker stared on in awe and horror at what he was about to eat, Chef made his way around the table, handing out food. When he got to Travis, Chef discreetly held out his hand and Travis, equally discreet, passed a bottle of the Good Scotch to Chef. Travis had at least five bottles of the Good Scotch hidden among his things for situations just like this. He smiled.

"Commander," said Reed, who was sitting beside Tucker. "Am I correct in my understanding that you are going to endeavor to eat that entire turkey?" Reed looked it over skeptically as he began to cut into his chicken (he may have been there to celebrate Thanksgiving, but his British principles wouldn't let him go all the way into the American holiday.). "Now, I know, believe me, I know, that you can eat a lot of food, but that just seems bloody impossible."

Tucker was too busy to answer his friend. He had tucked his napkin in the collar of his shirt, found the biggest knife and fork possible, and was currently making quick work of the left half of the large bird's torso. Reed was suitably disgusted when he was a piece of the skin dangling out of the corner of Tucker's mouth.

Everyone looked at Tucker for a moment and then went back to their own food. It was surprisingly disgusting that he was trying to eat a turkey on his own. Well, they knew he could eat incredibly large amounts of food (most had actually seen this in person; it was hard to miss the mountain of plates and cups when one walked into the mess hall), but eating a twenty- one pound turkey by oneself seemed to stretch the limits of their minds. But then again, so did a man getting pregnant and Tucker had already done that so they figured this wasn't so out of the ordinary.

----------

An hour later, Tucker turned the turkey to its right side. He had eaten the entire left portion of it already. One could see the bones with little bits of straggly meat still on them. "You are my Everest," he said, taking a breath.

Travis and Reed, along with Captain Archer and Doctor Phlox, who had gotten out a PADD and began to take notes, had long since given up their own meals and were watching Tucker eat the large turkey with horror and awe. It was inhuman, really, how much that man could eat. And he seemed to still be going strong. Though he had earlier made a request for someone to get him his sweat pants. He said that his uniform had no give.

Reed looked at Travis. "I don't understand. Did he lose a bet or something?"

The ensign merely shrugged. Reed need not know the comings and goings of the helmsman and the engineer. Reed raised an eyebrow and went back to watching Tucker. He figured that something was going on and it involved Travis, Tucker, and a bet that involved eating an entire turkey. He also knew that Tucker never liked losing bets. Reed resigned himself to the fact that they were going to be here for a long time. Either that, or Tucker was going to explode. And as blood was hell to get out of the walls, Reed really hoped it didn't come to that.

Archer, on the other hand, was thoroughly enjoying what was playing out before him. Thanksgivings with Tucker had always been fun. He remembered that one time when it had been just the two of them and Tucker said that he was thankful for the beautiful autumn they'd been having. "The other day I was at the bus stop," he had said, "and this nice crisp breeze came and blew this chick's skirt right up." He had added, "Which reminds me; I am also thankful for thongs." He had waxed poetic about the thong for the next ten minutes.

Phlox, too, was fascinated by this behavior being displayed by Tucker. He had no idea that humans were able to consume so much in one sitting. Well, he knew Tucker could consume an awful lot in one sitting, but not nearly the amount he was eating presently. It was like...it was like nothing Phlox had ever seen before; and Phlox had indeed seen some things. He wondered where it all could possible be going. And how Tucker stayed as thin as he was. He made a notation in his PADD to check for any possible alien interference in the commander next time he was in sickbay.

Travis watched as Trip tried to eat the turkey with a certain amount of glee. This was turning out to be the best day ever. Reed had actually come of his own free will to a party with the rest of the crew (though that look Reed got when the captain mentioned any word that sounded remotely like 'water polo' or 'gazelle' was slightly homicidal and Travis was pretty sure Reed had a phase pistol strapped to his leg) and Tucker was attempting to eat an entire turkey and looked like he was losing his will to go on.

"You alright, Commander?" Travis asked with a barely there hint of mocking. "Think you can finish it?"

Tucker didn't even look up from the bird he was busy demolishing. "Fine," he grunted around a mouthful of turkey meat. Reed looked at Tucker, slightly concerned.

"You know, my mother always said you shouldn't eat with your mouth full," he commented. "You could choke and die."

A number of people, including Archer, coughed into their hands, sounding remarkable like they were saying 'pessimist'. Travis wisely decided not to join them as he was reasonable certain the armoury officer was packing some heat. Reed glared at all around the table. Everyone quieted. Tucker looked up at him.

"Yeah, well, my mama said I should never eat anythin' bigger than my head." He looked pointedly at the turkey. "And ya don't see that stoppin' me."

"No, I do not," stated Reed. Tucker went back to eating his turkey.

---------

An hour later, most of the crew of Enterprise was standing outside of the door to a bathroom. Some were talking quietly amongst themselves and others were just standing, watching the door. Captain Archer, Travis, and Doctor Phlox, however, were standing with their ears pressed up against the door.

"I knew we shouldn't have let him eat all that turkey," whispered Archer.

"You have to admit, Captain, it was rather intriguing to watch," said Phlox.

"Shh!" hissed Travis. "I can't hear what's going on in there!"

The trio quieted down and listened. What they heard was slightly disturbing: the odd gagging and retching noise, running water, and Lieutenant Reed really taking the piss out of Tucker. Let it be said that the slurs on Tucker's parentage said by Reed were clearly only out of love for the man and his stupidity of eating an entire turkey on his own. Well, that or it was because half an hour previously what little amount of sanity Reed had left decided to pack its bags and go to the Bahamas and Reed had gotten rather drunk on cooking sherry.

A few minutes later, the swearing (Travis was privately surprised that Reed could swear for five solid minutes without repeating himself) let up, along with the gagging and retching. Footsteps were heard approaching the door and Travis, Archer, and Phlox stepped back and pretended that they hadn't been listening in. Reed, who looked surprisingly not drunk, walked out, supporting a rather pale Tucker.

"Don't worry," Reed declared. "He's fine; just a little worn. Didn't even throw up. Though there were a few close calls," he added as an after thought. Tucker nodded weakly at Reed's side. A round of clapping went up from the surrounding spectators. Suddenly, Chef cut through the crowd. He was holding something. Tucker looked at it.

"What-what'cha got there?" he asked.

"Pie." Chef looked at Tucker. "You want some, Commander?"

Reed was muttering something along the lines of 'don't, Commander, don't, turn away from the dark side, Trip, turn away'. Tucker paid him no heed. "Just a little sliver." Reed looked like he might cry. He was really beginning to hate Thanksgiving. Chef took out a knife and began to cut.

"Little bigger," implored Tucker. "Little bigger...," Tucker moved away from Reed, staring at the pie. "Little bigger... Aw, c'mon Chef, cut me a real piece!"

Archer smiled. "I love Thanksgiving." Travis smiled. He agreed. So he lost some of the Good Scotch. He still got to see Tucker eat an entire turkey. Archer continued. "We should do this every year, don't you think, Malcolm?" he asked, looking at the tactical officer. The Brit whimpered at this and at the sight of Tucker eating more food.

Wordlessly, someone handed Reed the cooking sherry.

The End


End file.
